


Fate

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Romance, Written in February 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She could get used to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted: Feb 15, 2006

The sound of raucous singing spilled onto the street from the doors of the pub every time they were opened. Hermione left the wild, and more than slightly inebriated, group before her headache could get any worse. She wasn’t fond of crowds anymore, never really had been even before the war, and told herself every time she came to the pub that it would be her last time.   
  
Then Friday night would arrive and she’d find herself home alone. The silence would become unbearable and even an off-key drunken song would be better than the loneliness. There were some faces she always saw there so it was comfortable and familiar, in a way. Seamus worked behind the bar and usually led the drunken merriment even if he wasn’t allowed to drink, much, before his shift ended. Hannah Abbott would often be found at a corner table trying to drink away the loss of Justin. Nott would be at the stool on the right, sneaking looks at Seamus’ arse and getting lost in a never-empty glass of firewhisky.   
  
And Hermione would be at a table near the window sipping a glass of wine, usually just one unless she felt particularly restless, as she tried to forget quiet flats and sleeping alone. The weekends that didn’t seem to find her at the pub were those when Ron or Harry were in town. She had a library slash guest room that would often be borrowed for a monthly visit. Well, they’d been monthly visits and lately seemed to bi-monthly. She assumed that they would become quarterly and eventually yearly as more time passed. It seemed an inevitable part of life, to grow up and drift apart.   
  
It was fortunate that they had the type of friendship that didn’t matter if they’d seen each other yesterday or last month. They exchanged owls weekly, that was something she didn’t foresee changing any time soon, and were always aware of each other’s lives, good and bad. She didn’t tell them how lonely it was with Harry in Scotland and Ron in Spain or how she worked nearly all her waking hours just to have something to fill the emptiness, of course. An evening spent alone in a crowded pub was the extent of her social life anymore, save for an occasional lunch with Ginny and monthly dinners with Neville.  
  
Tonight, she had stayed later than normal. Three glasses of wine had been consumed and she was just at the point where things were somewhat foggy and she had a slight headache that would probably clear up with fresh air, but she wasn’t tipsy enough to truly escape into the alcohol. Hermione didn’t allow herself to get drunk because she hated the loss of control and helpless feeling that accompanied it. Two glasses was her usual limit but something had kept her later tonight and a third glass had sounded too tempting to resist.   
  
It was a cold evening in mid-February, a heavy snow had fallen during the morning, and it was now icy in patches. Hermione loved winter, but she wasn’t a huge fan of the cold. It was a nice contradiction, she knew, and certainly not her only one. Right now, she didn’t pay much attention to the chill in the night air or the sky that indicated more snow was a possibility. She was worried about the reason she had stayed at the pub later so weather wasn’t on her mind. There was only one thing on her mind at the moment.   
  
Bill Weasley.   
  
He was slightly ahead of her leaning against the wall of a building; his coat far too thin for the winter weather and she didn’t think he was even wearing gloves. His long hair was loose, falling around his face and shoulders in a curtain of dark ginger, so his ears were at least covered. He might not be affected by the temperature, but that wouldn’t mean he’d not catch cold walking around with that thin winter coat and no gloves.   
  
His appearance at her pub had been surprising, to say the least. It was the first time Bill had been to her pub, invited by Seamus when they’d run into one another in Diagon Alley recently, she’d been told when Seamus brought her a drink. She didn’t know what he was doing in London, hadn’t heard any gossip of note lately, and had thought she was imagining things when she’d seen him step into the pub. It might be the first time he’d been there, but she knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been to a pub to drink away his sorrows.   
  
Molly had expressed concern in Bill’s erratic behavior a few times, after all. Hermione didn’t think Bill was doing anything that anyone else in his situation wouldn’t do, though, and most wouldn’t have been strong enough to handle things as well as he had. The attack at Hogwarts years ago had left him scarred physically, but he’d not let that keep him from showing his face and he had never displayed any self-pity for what had happened to him during the attack. Personally, she thought he was still very handsome even with the scars. The death of Fleur and their baby during childbirth near the end of the war would have broken many men, but he’d managed to remain strong despite the heavy loss.   
  
She could remember weeks of silence, though, as Bill mourned the wife and unborn baby that had been taken from him in a way no one had ever expected. An attack by Death Eaters or even a stray curse during battle was something they had all somewhat expected every time they stepped out of the protective wards and it had been a possible outcome for any of them. It had been a shock when the owl had arrived at their shelter telling Ron about Fleur and the baby’s death. Bill had been there fighting a week later, his face pale and dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d not stopped fighting until Voldemort was defeated and it was all finally over.   
  
It had been six years since the end of the war. Bill had returned to Egypt and gone back to cursebreaking. When he came home for the holidays, he was quieter but Bill had never been as loud or talkative as most of his family. He laughed, but it never really reached his eyes, and his smiles were more often pained or fleeting than real and genuine. Molly worried a lot, though, especially about him being alone and not seeming to move on as time went by. The drinking was a concern, too, but he never appeared to drink in excess, no more than any of them really, so Hermione wasn’t sure if Molly just _knew_ he might drink more when he was alone with nothing but memories or just assumed he, like Hannah, found solace in the bottom of a glass.  
  
“You’re not very good at following people.”  
  
Hermione was pulled from her thoughts by a lazy drawl that was low and either annoyed or amused. One couldn’t be quite certain with Bill these days. She looked up to find Bill looking at her. His hair covered the scars on his face and his lips were curved into a frown. “I wasn’t following you,” she denied as she pulled her coat tighter and shivered. “I was walking home.”  
  
“You’ve never been a liar, Hermione. Don’t start now,” he muttered as he glared. “I don’t need a babysitter and I’ve already got a mum so bugger off.”  
  
“You’re rude when you’re drunk,” she pointed out quietly. “I was having a drink at the pub where I always spend my Friday nights, for your information, so perhaps I should be telling you to bugger off since you’re in my space, Mister Weasley.”  
  
“Who said I was drunk? Besides, it’s not rude, it’s just honest,” he defended as he met her gaze without flinching. He didn’t look drunk but she knew he’d had seven drinks. She’d counted as there was nothing much else to do at the pub and she’d been a bit worried when she’d seen him drinking so much. “You spent most the night watching me; I may be scarred but I’m not blind, Hermione”  
  
“I spend all my evenings at the pub watching people,” she explained smoothly, her words truth even if she never spent them watching just one person. It was Bill and he was like family, after all, so it was her responsibility to make sure he was okay. That’s what she told herself every time her gaze seemed to drift to him over the past few years.   
  
“And do you follow them all home or am I just lucky?” There was just a hint of amusement, so minor it was barely noticeable, but it was there.  
  
“I’m not following anyone now. My flat is this way and I had a bit too much wine so I’m walking instead of Apparating,” she explained in a tone that told him she didn’t find it amusing in the slightest. “You know, I don’t owe you any explanations, Bill.”  
  
“I’m not drunk,” he told her quietly but sincerely as he ran his fingers through his long hair. For a moment, he looked lost and confused, far younger than thirty-five. “I drink just enough to make it manageable, you know? Mum worries too much. You can report back to her that I’m somewhat sober and not seeing three of you instead of one so maybe she’ll stop being so bloody concerned.”  
  
“You’re her son. She’ll always worry,” Hermione pointed out matter-of-factly. “Besides, I won’t be telling her anything about seeing you. If I did, she’d want to know why I was at the pub alone on a Friday night and would then probably decide that I’m an alcoholic and worry about me. I much prefer her to worry about others.”  
  
“You didn’t even finish a third glass of wine, that’s some weak wine, by the way, and Finnegan said you usually don’t even finish one glass,” Bill said dryly in response to the belief that she would be an alcoholic. At her arched brow, he shrugged. “I noticed you by the window when I got there and asked. Considered going over to say hello but figured you were either meeting someone, hoped to pick up someone, or wanted to be alone so I didn’t bother interrupting you.”  
  
“I don’t pick up drunken men in pubs,” she said sharply, annoyed that he’d ever think she was some common pub-slag.   
  
“You don’t go to get drunk, obviously, and you don’t go for an easy fuck so why do you go?” he asked as his gaze focused on her with an intensity that Bill had always possessed and that always left her slightly unnerved. “Every Friday, you said?”  
  
“That’s not any of your business,” she told him softly as she pulled her coat tighter and considered performing a warming charm but didn’t want to remove her hands from her pocket long enough to do, especially when she wasn’t very far from her flat. “It’s too cold to stand out here any longer. Are you going back to Egypt or staying at the Burrow? I have tea and cocoa if you’d like something warm before you Apparate.”  
  
“I have a flat not far from here,” he said as he moved his head to indicate an area past her flat. At her surprised look, he almost smiled but it was so fleeting she thought she might have been mistaken. “I accepted a promotion at work and moved back to London last week. I thought it was time, I suppose.”  
  
“I hadn’t heard,” she admitted as she started to walk, needing to move to warm up. The cold air was killing the slight buzz she had from the wine, which she actually found somewhat annoying. “Well, if you need anything, I’m just down the street. Congratulations on the promotion, of course.”  
  
“It should be interesting. I’ll be working in England and Scotland with an occasional assignment in Ireland so it’s going to be different than being based primarily in Egypt, but I think change is good, in this case. You know, just because I live here now doesn’t mean you get out of making me that mug of cocoa, Hermione. I’d hate to tell Mum you reneged on your polite offer,” he said as he looked up at the stars. “You do have marshmallows, I presume?”  
  
Hermione fought a smile as she glanced at him. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, but he also wasn’t scowling so that was a bit of an improvement. She wondered idly what it would take to make him smile again. He seemed so sad and she hated seeing people she cared about sad. “I might,” she drawled in a teasing way.  
  
“Might, huh?” he asked as they reached her building. He opened the door for her when she reached out for the handle. “It’s been ages since I’ve had cocoa.”  
  
“No cocoa in that long? That’s just horrible,” she mock gasped and shook her head, finally giving in and smiling as she led him to the lift. “I’m on the third floor. We could walk, if you’d rather, but the lift is easier after a night at the pub.”  
  
“The lift is fine.” He looked at her again and asked quietly, “It gets lonely, doesn’t it? Sometimes work can be a great distraction, gives you something to focus on, but some nights it’s impossible to ignore the silence and you can’t stand being alone for another minute or you just know you’ll go crazy.”  
  
“Yes,” she agreed softly as she stepped onto the lift and pushed the appropriate button. She glanced at him, somehow not surprised that he’d understand. They were silent as they rode up to her floor, but it was a nice sort of silence, shared by another who knew loneliness.  
  
The End


	2. Routines

It was funny how easily routines could develop. In the three months since he’d returned to England, his life had taken on a sense of order.   
  
For years, it seemed, Bill had drifted. After Fleur died, there had been nothing to ground him. The loss of an unborn child had been difficult, as he’d always wanted to be a father, but it was something he could deal with and get over. The baby hadn’t been a person to him yet, he guessed. It had been his future son, as he found out after, yet Bill hadn’t really _seen_ it as such. He felt guilty sometimes for not mourning more than he had and wondered if it made him cruel or a monster to not feel consumed with grief at that loss.   
  
Fleur’s death, however, had been devastating. During the months after his attack, she’d been strong enough for both of them. When the nightmares became horrible or he had one of his moods, one of the few side effects of the bite, she’d been there with patience and a gentle hand. At a time when everything had felt artificial and insincere, her light had shown through and she’d saved him from himself. He’d looked at her and realized she really was beautiful, inside and out. Losing her had been such a shock and it had taken him years to stop reaching for her at night and to refrain from expecting her to be there when he got home from work.  
  
He had accepted the promotion with the hope that it would allow him an opportunity to start putting his life back together. It hadn’t fallen apart, he was far too strong to allow that, but he’d barely been living since Fleur died. He went to work, took the most dangerous assignments offered, lived in a small flat in a quiet area of Egypt, and spent most his nights at the local pub because the silence and the emptiness was too overwhelming. That had been his routine in Egypt, though he’d not realized until recently that it had even been a routine. It had always felt as if he were drifting down the Nile with no one trying to bring him safely to shore.  
  
London was different. Bill couldn’t really explain why but he could see the differences in his day to day life. It wasn’t lonely anymore. He had a friend; something so simple and often taken for granted by many, a friend had changed things for him. Hermione Granger, of all people, had come into his life unexpectedly. A mug of cocoa on a cold winter’s night had started it all. Even when he’d tried to retreat, not at all sure he was ready to be around anyone or wanted a friend, she’d stubbornly refused.  
  
His little brother’s best friend; for years, that’s all Hermione had ever been. He’d known her, of course, but he’d honestly never given her much thought. She was smart, relatively pretty enough, and didn’t believe in keeping her opinions to herself. Fleur had called Hermione a dynamo once during a summer’s evening at the Burrow, and Bill thought the term was appropriate. Ron had been infatuated with her and he’d assumed she’d eventually be his sister-in-law if Ron had his way. That was the extent of what he’d ever thought in regards to Hermione.   
  
Ron hadn’t had his way, obviously. Bill wasn’t sure what had happened between them, hadn’t cared before because he’d been dealing with his own problems and loss, but he’d learned in the last few weeks that Ron and Hermione had given it a go. They’d dated for a few months after the war before ending it. It was a mutual agreement and they were still friends so he assumed that was the truth. Since then, she’d not dated anyone. He didn’t question that because he knew you could have a rewarding life without love and companionship. Besides, she was still young, only twenty-six, and had a long time to find someone who might make her happy.   
  
His earlier opinion of Hermione hadn’t changed. She _was_ smart, certainly didn’t believe in keeping her thoughts to herself once she was comfortable around someone, and she was pretty. There wasn’t a heart stopping beauty or even looks that would probably get a second look from most men, but he liked the uniqueness in her face because it was different, just like her. He also thought she went from pretty enough to beautiful when she smiled and laughed, which was becoming more often as time went by.  
  
She was a handful, though. After a tentative and almost shy initial meeting and cup of cocoa, which he thought was probably due to her being caught watching and following him, he’d been surprised to receive an owl from her telling him he was coming for dinner that Tuesday. If he’d refused, it would have been rude and she’d probably have told his mother so he’d gone. Every time he’d tried to pull away, to shove her out of his life when he came to the realization he was getting used to her being around, she ignored him and he decided it was easier to go along with her than protest.   
  
There was nothing artificial about Hermione. She was stubborn to a point of annoyance, outspoken, opinionated, and refused to tolerate his worst moods. She didn’t mind smacking him when he needed it, literally, and it was obvious she’d grown up with two male best friends. There was a gentleness about her, though, that many people seemed to miss. In many ways, she was a complete contradiction, really. Outspoken and forthright but also shy and hesitant, patient about many things but ridiculously impatient about others, surrounded by people who loved her and that she called friend, but solitary and lonely in a way he recognized all too well.   
  
Nightmares still kept him awake often, especially as a full moon drew near, so he had a lot of time to think; probably too much, if he was completely honest. It hadn’t taken him long to realize she was lonely and wanted conversation and companionship. Her flat was warm and homey, very welcoming in a way much like her, but he could sense the emptiness that first night as he’d sat awkwardly on the sofa with a mug of cocoa in his hand. He recognized loneliness in a way that only other sufferers could truly identify. It didn’t really make sense to him why she’d be alone unless it was by choice, but he didn’t think it was necessarily her choice.   
  
He’d always been surrounded by people who wanted to know him, wanted to be his friend. It had been part of his life since he was first at Hogwarts and it hadn’t stopped as he grew older. He didn’t think it was arrogant to know that he was charming, good-looking, intelligent, and likable. Charlie had often whined about Bill’s popularity and had been quite pleased that he could whip Bill’s arse when it came to Quidditch so that he had something he was brilliant at that Bill couldn’t overshadow him doing. After school, he’d made a successful niche for himself at cursebreaking, utilizing his love for history and charms as well as his sometimes foolish brashness when it came to danger.   
  
The attack at Hogwarts had changed him. He could care less about the scars, most of the time, because he’d never been one to be obnoxious his good looks. It was just part of who he was, after all, just like Charlie was muscular and looked like a giant freckle and Percy had a stick up his arse. He’d changed in other ways after he’d gotten out of St. Mungos. He’d not wanted people to gravitate towards him anymore and could care less about being charming and likable.   
  
Fleur had told him once that he kept putting up ‘keep away’ signs around him and that people could read them even if they were invisible, but Bill didn’t care. His scars from that night went far beyond what anyone could actually see and, all these years later, he still woke with nightmares of growling and teeth and pain. His loneliness was his own fault, really, because he hadn’t wanted friends; he’d wanted to be alone so he’d gone back to Egypt where everyone left him alone except for Charlie, who just didn’t care what he wanted, thankfully.   
  
Brothers didn’t count, though. Bill didn’t want anyone to get close enough again for him to care because losing someone was the worst feeling in the world. Whether it was just a friend or someone who meant more, the loss was something he didn’t want to risk. It probably made no sense to anyone else but it was a good plan and he’d succeeded in being alone for years. Then he came back to London and met a stubborn domineering brunette who didn’t let his growls and glares send her away.  
  
He could vaguely recall hearing his father talk to his mother one night years ago about Hermione and her lost causes. There were some nights when Bill had to wonder if she’d somehow decided he was one and that’s why she wouldn’t let him be. Not that her reasons really mattered, not anymore, but it was an intriguing puzzle and he’d always enjoyed solving riddles. Her loneliness, the reason she had such an empty life outside of work, why she didn’t have men wanting to take her out, and many other questions occupied his thoughts at times. He had come to a few conclusions, but he didn’t think he really wanted to ever completely figure her out. He liked having something complex that he’d probably never be able to solve.  
  
In the three months since he’d returned to England, he’d started to make it home again. His job was interesting with an opportunity for travel, though it was day trips with very few assignments requiring an overnight stay, and he had settled in fairly quickly. He was good at his job and people there didn’t care if he was quiet and reserved as long as he was successful. His flat was very small, but it was all he needed for himself. He and Hermione had painted the sitting room a calming blue and his bedroom a color that reminded him of the sand in Egypt, and they’d been to a few markets in the weeks since to buy things for his flat.   
  
He was again struck by the notion that it was funny how easily routines were set up, even without one realizing it. He went to dinner at Hermione’s on Tuesdays. She came to his flat for take away on Thursdays, though he’d bought a cookbook at the bookstore she ran so he could surprise her with his, hopefully, superior culinary talents one Thursday soon. Fridays were pub night. They shared a table by the window and alternated between comfortable silence and conversation.   
  
Saturday was errand day. The trip to the market for basic goods, a stop at the vegetable market for fresh items, a stop at the bakery, and then anything else that needed done. They’d usually go out to eat Saturday nights, always somewhere casual and enjoyable, and would often go to the Muggle cinema or a museum exhibit or a concert. Sunday mornings would see him buying pastries and going to her flat to read the newspapers, as she had subscriptions to both Muggle and wizarding papers, and then returning home by the afternoon to clean up and give her time to do chores around her own flat.   
  
The weeks had developed into that routine somehow and Bill had to admit that he sometimes felt restless on Mondays and Wednesdays because he was left on his own and it felt even more lonely without Hermione around. Last week, Harry had been in town and stayed the weekend with her, disrupting their routine in a way that had left Bill sullen and annoyed. He’d been invited to dinner on Saturday, and he was somewhat ashamed at the way he’d acted like a spoiled brat that night.   
  
His mood had been awful all day that Saturday, of course, and the full moon had been approaching which always made him act like a bastard. Harry hadn’t even seemed to notice but Hermione hadn’t refrained from smacking the back of his head and telling him to be nice or go home. He’d been nice, but it hadn’t stopped him from glaring about being treated like a child regardless of the fact that he’d possibly been acting like one.  
  
Now it was Friday, Harry was gone, and things were back to normal. It was nice having some sort of routine, even an unspoken one he wasn’t entirely sure Hermione realized they had, and Bill was ready for the weekend. He was relaxed and on his third glass of firewhisky. Hermione was still on her first glass of wine and watching the people walk by outside. Bill liked the silences between them: perfect for thinking without being empty or uncomfortable.  
  
The End


	3. Lines

There was a thin line between friendship and romantic love. Most never crossed the line, probably gave it no thought whatsoever, but some did, either by choice or just suddenly being on the other side without realizing how they'd gotten there. There had been a study, though, that had shown that a large percentage of people had at least entertained the idea of a platonic relationship with a member of the opposite sex becoming more.   
  
Hermione had always had male friends. There had been no friends prior to Hogwarts and then she’d met Harry and Ron. There was Neville, Fred, George, Viktor, Seamus, and a half dozen other men she considered friends, ranging from very close to good. She had crossed the line with Ron and considered crossing it with Viktor again after the war but hadn’t.   
  
Everyone else had never tempted her to infatuation or occupied her thoughts in a non-platonic manner. Well, there had been that time she’d caught Seamus walking around naked in the tent they shared during the war, but mostly due to a glimpse of a tattoo on his arse she’d been curious to see closer. There’d also been an occasional stray thought about Fred, if she were being completely honest, but he was like Harry in terms of bring about sibling feelings despite those stray thoughts.  
  
This had snuck up on her. After her failed relationship with Ron, she’d decided romance and love just weren’t meant for her. She wasn’t the type, she supposed, and hadn’t given it any more thought. It wasn’t as if she had men beating down the door to ask her out or anyone interested in her like that. She hadn’t even been able to get a date to a Christmas party without it being platonic with one of her boys. There was just something about her, she guessed, that meant she was destined to be ‘The Friend’.   
  
She preferred that over the possible outcomes of a relationship as she didn’t see how any could possibly work out if she and Ron hadn’t even managed to make it. For years, she’d wanted Ron and never thought about anyone else. The reality had been nice, at first, but it hadn’t lasted. They’d woken up one day and just known that they’d given it a shot but it wasn’t meant to be.   
  
They were close friends, even now, and any previous awkwardness had dissipated rather quickly once they were apart. It had hurt, though, even if it had been a mutual decision, and Hermione wasn’t entirely certain she ever wanted to risk her heart that way again. After all, she and the boy many had thought was her soulmate, to be cliché, hadn’t stayed together so it was highly unlikely someone else would fit with her any better.  
  
There had never been any intention to look for love nor had she wanted to find it. It was just her luck to end up falling for someone who wasn’t interested at all and seemed to have ‘Keep Away’ signs all around his heart. There weren’t many men in the world that would have been so unwise to fall in love with as Bill Weasley. She didn’t know how it happened and had tried to deny it for days after she’d realized what the fluttering in her belly might mean, what the anticipation she felt every time they were to meet, the elation she felt whenever they were together mixed with a nervousness she didn’t quite understand and desire she knew all too well signified, and why her life felt more complete since Bill had come into it.  
  
Denial hadn’t made it go away so Hermione had finally had to acknowledge her feelings for the man who had become her best friend over the past five months. It had been a warm day in June when she’d been unable to ignore the fact that her feelings had developed and changed. They’d gone to the park for a picnic, the food and conversation had been wonderful, and Bill had actually been smiling and had even laughed a few times. He’d kept pushing his hair away from his face and had finally reached over and removed the ribbon from her own hair, grinning at her and winking when she’d protested before he’d told her she looked lovely with her hair down, and proceeded to steal her ribbon.  
  
Instead of taking his comment in a teasing fashion, as he obviously intended, her mouth had gone dry and she’d blushed at hearing him call her lovely and seeing his real smile. There was still grief and she could see the shadows cross his face at times as he obviously remembered his loss, but he was more relaxed now and seemed happy, at least happier than he’d been in awhile. He wasn’t the carefree, dashing and charming Bill that Harry had called cool many years ago and probably never would be exactly that way again, but she could see the change in him as days went by and he began to move on.   
  
In the middle of the park on a pretty summer afternoon, Hermione realized she’d fallen in love with Bill Weasley. Of course, there was no way he could find out. His friendship meant far more than some hopeless infatuation that would eventually pass with time. He was the first man she’d spent time with in years so it was only logical she’d develop feelings for him, she had decided, though she didn’t quite believe that excuse. It was just easier for both of them if she relegated those unexpected feelings to the back of her mind and never let him know.   
  
There were many things that Hermione was good at, and keeping secrets happened to be one of them. Ron had never figured out she fancied him all those years, despite several times she was convinced she’d slipped up and he must know, so she’d just keep her feelings for Bill to herself. She had managed to do so for several weeks now so it shouldn’t be too difficult.   
  
Hermione shook her head and stopped thinking about it. She’d been thinking about it for weeks and knew it was pointless to dwell on something she could never have. It was time to finish getting ready as he’d be there soon. He was always prompt and normally arrived at least five minutes early. It wasn’t as if they had a set time, of course, but it had become routine over the months for him to show up at her flat by nine on Saturday mornings for them to spend the day together.   
  
The wireless predicted a hot July afternoon so Hermione was glad she’d decided to wear shorts and a sleeveless shirt so she’d not get too overheated while walking in the sun. The heat didn’t bother Bill at all, as it was nothing compared to Egypt, and the prat didn’t even seem to sweat. She suspected he knew some obscure charm to prevent sweating but he denied it and laughed at the idea.   
  
After she put on her sandals, she brushed her hair and picked up her ribbon. It was the one he’d taken from her that afternoon, which made her think about him and her fluttering tummy and things she shouldn’t be thinking about. She sighed and pulled her hair back, securing the ribbon so her hair wouldn’t be on her neck or in her face, and then went to the sitting room to wait for Bill.   
  
The thin line between friendship and romantic love no longer existed when she thought about Bill. She’d crossed it and it was so far behind her that she couldn’t even see it anymore. It would be her secret, though, as she couldn’t take the risk of him ever finding out she was in love with him.   
  
The End


	4. Acceptance

It was just a little virus.   
  
The mediwitch at St. Mungos had assured him that it was just the latest virus that would clear up easily with the potion they prescribed, but Bill was still worried. He knew it was silly to fret like this over a tummy bug, of all things, but the illness had been unexpected and it messed up their routine. He had settled into that routine over the past months and having it thrown out of balance was a surprise.  
  
Hermione didn’t get sick. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never heard of her getting sick. True, he didn’t have an exact history of every single moment of every single year, but he had always thought of her as being strong and healthy. She’d even managed to walk about in the slush and snow with just a red nose and flushed cheeks as evidence of the cold, nary a sniffle nor cough being heard from her.   
  
It was disconcerting to see her so pale and feverish when she was normally so alive and vibrant. Yes, vibrant was the word for her, he decided. He didn’t care what St. Mungos said because anything simple wouldn’t knock her on her arse like this illness had done. True, they’d said it was some strain of wizarding virus with symptoms of some sort of Muggle floo, which made no sense to him, and that it would be fine with the potion, but they weren’t the ones watching her sleep and seeing how sick she looked.  
  
Bill felt restless. He’d felt restless since he’d arrived for Tuesday dinner after a successful trip to Cork, Ireland, to find Hermione lying in bed looking half-dead with tissues all around her and the rubbish bin close by for her upset stomach. She’d told him she had a cold but there was no cold he knew that made one so utterly sick and exhausted. She’d refused to go to the hospital on Tuesday. Even as she’d lain there coughing and scaring him half to death, she’d stubbornly shook her head and said hospitals bothered her.   
  
Of course, he understood why. She’d been stuck in the hospital for nearly three weeks after the last battle of the war when she‘d been caught in a maelstrom of curses that had left Harry and Ron and most of his family frightened. He’d not really noticed, he was ashamed to admit now, as he’d been sleepwalking through his life by that point and hadn’t given much else any thought. He had always been a bit of a selfish bastard, or so Charlie liked to say, and he guessed that was further proof of Charlie’s blunt honesty.  
  
There had been no moment of thoughtful analysis or even a slight hint of indecision on Tuesday night when he’d owled Gringott’s and told them he was taking a few days off for personal time. If Hermione was sick, she needed him to look after her, especially if the stubborn woman wouldn’t see a mediwitch. When she’d attempted to convince him she was fine, a statement that had been unsupported by her having to throw up in the middle of her reassurances, he’d proven to her that he could be just as, if not more, stubborn than her. He was older, after all, so he had a decade longer to perfect that talent.  
  
When she’d fallen asleep that night, he’d gone home, packed a few things, and owled his mum to explain where he was as she had this annoying tendency to pop her head through the floo at random times during the last six months since he’d moved back to London. He knew she was checking up on him, probably making sure he wasn’t drinking himself into a stupor, as she still seemed to believe he was some sort of alcoholic despite the fact he never got drunk, or hadn’t left to go back to Egypt or elsewhere without letting her know. It was endearing, in a way, but somewhat annoying in another. Regardless, he’d let his mum know and gone back to Hermione’s flat. Within an hour, Bill had settled in Hermione’s study slash library slash guest room. To be perfectly honest, he’d had hardly left her side since.  
  
There was something incredibly scary about seeing her so ill. He’d sat in the chair by her bed watching her sleep for hours over the last few days, needing to see her chest rising and falling to know she was still alive, and wanting to be there when she opened her eyes so she’d know he hadn’t left her alone. If he wasn’t in the chair that he’d taken to considering ‘his’ chair, he was on the bed beside her running a cool flannel over her face or holding her hair as she threw up or helping her to the loo, where he paced around outside the closed door until she opened it to confirm she was okay.  
  
At night, when he couldn’t avoid sleep any longer, he crawled up into bed beside her. He told himself that his body heat might help her heal, but it was mostly because he could wrap his arm around her lightly and feel her breathing as he slept. He needed to know, even in sleep, that she hadn’t left him and that she was still alive. He knew she’d not mind him sharing her bed, as they had fallen asleep together a few times over the last months, though she might not be too thrilled about him just wearing his shorts. However, it was late summer and hot so she was lucky that he’d not been sleeping nude as he usually did, not that he’d do so in this situation. He had made sure he was awake and dressed before she woke during his time there to avoid embarrassing her.  
  
It was disgraceful, really, for his body to react to her presence. She was sick, so sick that he’d finally ignored her objections and taken her to St. Mungos on Friday, and he was waking with a hard-on like some bloody teenager. It was true, though, that wanking in the morning shower was a pleasant enough way to escape his concern that she wouldn’t get better.   
  
He chose to ignore the fact that it was a curvaceous brunette with full lips and an intelligent gaze that came to mind as he stroked himself instead of the slender blonde that had been in his mind for years. It was just close proximity that had him thinking about Hermione like that, that had had him thinking of her in that way for months if he was completely and totally honest, and the fact she was a very pretty girl with a body made for things he shouldn’t even be thinking about with his best friend certainly didn‘t help _not_ think about her.   
  
Ignorance was bliss in this situation, he had decided after the first time her face had come to mind during that particular activity, so not thinking about it meant it didn’t mean anything. He was a man, after all, and had needs and desires that he’d simply been satisfying with his hand for a bit too long. She was an attractive, very shaggable woman that he found sexually appealing so it was logical that he’d think of her while satisfying those needs. That’s what he told himself and it let him get through the days without feeling awkward or intrigued enough to give it too much thought.  
  
The she got sick and everything got confusing and fucked up.  
  
Bill made sure she was sleeping soundly before he got up and went to the kitchen. They’d gotten home from St. Mungos early in the morning, a few hours before dawn, and she’d fallen asleep instantly. He’d tried but sleep had been elusive. It didn’t matter, really, as he was used to not sleeping well. In fact, he’d slept better during the past four days than he had in a long time. There hadn’t been any nightmares despite the full moon not being far away, which was very nice.  
  
He reached up and idly dragged his fingertips over the ragged scars on his face and neck. He was fortunate they’d not done more damage than they had but the mood swings and the urges he felt during that phase of the moon were bad enough. For the most part, he’d adjusted to the moodiness and people tended to just avoid him when he was like that. The urges were controllable and weren’t very important any more as he didn’t have a lover, a mate as some in his situation might consider it, so he just got a little more rough with himself and it was fine.   
  
Even if he considered possibly letting someone else in, taking the risk to his heart by loving again, he wasn’t sure he’d ever want someone he loved to deal with him during those few days. Fleur had had difficulty when he got like that and he honestly wondered, feeling guilty as he did, how long she’d have ended up staying with him before it got to be too much for her. No, he was far better off with friends instead of an intimate relationship. He needed to remember that when his mind wandered and he felt a longing for someone to be beside him every morning when he woke up, to share his life with in all ways, to love and be loved again.   
  
He shook his head slightly and finished getting breakfast ready. The potion they had given Hermione at the hospital would help her stomach, he had been told, but he was going to risk making her more sick. He needed her to get better. His life was in a state of turmoil without their routines and he needed the security of her being okay. It would be dry toast and a small amount of oatmeal for her this morning with a glass of apple juice, as the orange juice seemed to upset her stomach.   
  
There was a tray that he used to carry her breakfast to her. He put the morning edition of her two newspapers on the side, knowing he’d read to her as he had done every morning for the last few days, and smiled as he transfigured a napkin into a pretty tulip for her tray. Tulips took a little more time and thought than a simple rose, but she preferred them to any other flower so it was worth it. Once he had added his own plate, performing a charm on the kitchen and his sausage so the smell would be covered and not possibly make her feel nauseous, he walked back into her room.  
  
She was still asleep so he cast a warming charm on their food and put the tray down to wait until she woke. Instead of sitting in his chair, he sat beside her on the bed and brushed his fingers against her forehead. She felt cooler than she had yesterday but there was still fever. Bill stared at her openly, not having to worry about being caught when she was asleep, and smiled gently as he noticed she’d drooled in her sleep. A quick delicate wipe of the flannel took care of that and he let his fingers linger by her mouth for a bit longer than was appropriate.  
  
The potion would help her and soon she’d be healthy again. There wasn’t a risk of her not waking up, of her dying, so it was foolish to worry about that. It just reminded him of Fleur, of seeing her so pale and damp from sweat, of watching her struggle to breathe as the blood was everywhere and watching her die while he stood there unable to do anything to save her. It had all happened so fast, losing the woman he loved and their unborn child, and finding Hermione so sick on Tuesday had brought back those memories.  
  
Bill’s eyes widened and he felt like someone kicked him in the gut as he pulled his hand away from Hermione’s face. He stared at her with a different look now, one that was scared and shocked and possibly a little hopeful. His fingers ran through his hair, needing something to do as he reeled from his sudden realization. He felt jarred, like he’d just been woken from a deep sleep to find himself standing in the sitting room instead of lying in bed, and his analytical mind wanted to figure out how and when and why it had happened but all he could do was sit there and stare.  
  
It wasn’t just the change in their routine that left him feeling so worried and restless. While that did upset the balance of his life, he couldn’t deny the truth any longer. He didn’t want to lose Hermione, couldn’t lose the woman he loved for a second time, and couldn’t completely relax until she was better and smiling again. The woman he loved. That kept echoing in his mind as he watched her sleeping. She began to stir and he blinked, drawn from the slight daze that the recognition of his feelings had caused.   
  
He’d think about all of this later, he decided as he quickly looked away before she caught him staring with such a shocked and confused expression on his face. After breakfast, when she was sleeping again, he’d try to figure out how the bloody hell this had happened and what he was going to do about it. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the knowledge that he had somehow fallen in love with Hermione that had him so surprised. No, it was the fact that he’d not even noticed and wasn’t entirely sure what to do now that left him flustered and puzzled.   
  
Hermione coughed and blinked at him, bleary eyed and sleepy as she woke up. He waited, ready to hold her hair back if she needed to throw up, and was relieved when she didn’t make any movement towards doing so. Her face was flushed and pale but her fever seemed to have broken and she wasn’t nauseous so maybe the potion actually was working. She looked better than she had the previous mornings, which was promising, and seemed to be more alert and awake than she had been since getting sick.   
  
Bill picked up the tray and watched her smile when she saw the tulip, that smile worth the time and energy it had taken to transfigure, before she coughed again along with a bout of sneezing that had her cursing like his youngest brother in a way that made him smile. She sheepishly admitted she needed to use the loo before even thinking about trying to eat so he helped her out of bed and to the loo. When the door shut, he sighed and knew there was no point in no denying it or trying to convince himself otherwise. He ran both of his hands over his face and through his long hair as he accepted the accuracy of his suspicions: he was in love with Hermione Granger.   
  
The End


	5. Falling

It was a lot like walking a tightrope.  
  
If she swayed too far left or too far right, she’d fall off. Hermione possessed the delicate balance necessary to stay on the rope but it became more and more difficult the longer she found herself walking it. She didn’t even want to think about the repercussions of falling, though, so she kept herself steady and maintained her balance.  
  
She had been on this path for a little more than four months, walking steadily and never giving away anything to indicate she wanted more or wished things were different. One step too far in either way would alert Bill to the truth of her feelings so she had to be careful. Was this touch too lingering? Had he caught her looking at him? Did he look at her and know what she dreamed about? Was she too obvious? How could she keep being The Friend when she had fallen more in love as time went by and wanted only to be His?   
  
All these questions in her mind sometimes proved so distracting that it took all of her focus to keep herself from giving anything away, to make sure Bill would never know and realize how she felt. It had been easier when she was younger. A crush was brief and usually fleeting, never lasting very long and usually gone before she’d given it much thought. Her feelings for Ron had been kept close to her heart from the time she first realized there was more to their bickering than simple animosity. He’d never figured it out until she’d let him know.   
  
With Bill, she _couldn’t_ let him know, though. She’d spent hours over the last few months making lists, both mental and on scraps of parchment when her mind wandered, listing the pros and cons of confessing that she no longer looked at him as just a good friend and had fallen in love. The fact that he was obviously still in love with his wife and the knowledge that he had never given her any indication at all that he considered her more than a friend were enough to override any amount of ‘pros’ on the lists she made.   
  
If there had been even a slight hint he could ever think of her as Lover instead of Friend, she might have taken a risk and done something to let him know how she felt. He hadn’t, though, save for a few imagined times when she thought he’d looked at her a bit longer than appropriate or his touch had seemed to linger in a way that made her hopeful. Just her imagination, of course, as a closer look at him always confirmed that he was still just Bill and there were no secret longings, wasn’t any lusty gaze, and certainly nothing that suggested he wanted more. So Hermione walked the tightrope and never said a word.  
  
His friendship was far too important to her for her to do something that would potentially make it awkward, if not ruin it all together. She was old enough to appreciate the place he had in her life, even if it wasn’t exactly what she yearned for him to be to her, and knew friendship was better than loneliness. That’s why it bothered her when she felt him pulling back. It had been subtle, so subtle that she’d probably not even have realized it if she wasn’t so very aware of everything in regard to Bill, but she _had_ noticed.   
  
At first, she thought it had been due to her illness. Bill had stayed with her the entire time and then caught a much milder case of the virus himself. She’d only been recovered for a day before he’d come down with it and it had been her time to take care of him until he’d been better. His case had only lasted two days, due in part to their knowledge of the diagnosis and the potion she’d been too stubborn to go to the hospital to get immediately. When he’d been okay, he’d gone back to work and their routine had settled back into place.  
  
There had been something wrong, though. Since it had coincided with the illness, she assumed that must be to blame somehow. It was silly, of course, as Bill had offered to take care of her so he couldn’t be upset about that, and he just wasn’t the type to blame her for his getting sick with the same virus so it couldn’t be that, either. She’d eventually decided it wasn’t anything to do with being sick, which just left her more confused as to why he had changed.  
  
Bill was more guarded around her. It would sound stupid to explain it to anyone, but Hermione could feel the difference. It was so very subtle that she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t wrong yet she couldn’t deny a shift in their relationship. Their routine hadn’t changed. In many ways, he was still the same as he had been before she was sick. He had pulled back, though, and seemed wary in a way that puzzled her. There was a tension now that hadn’t been there before, she recognized, and he didn’t seem to really relax a majority of the time.   
  
She’d given it three weeks. Perhaps he was preoccupied with work or it was another mood swing or she was wrong and nothing had really changed. There had been excuses in her mind every time she considered asking him what was wrong. Now, though, she knew it was time to find out what the problem was and just hope it wasn’t her because she didn’t want to lose him.  
  
“What?” Bill interrupted her mental pep talk with his somewhat defensive question. Hermione pulled herself from her thoughts and looked at him curiously. He frowned and looked away at her arched brow and curious gaze. “You were staring.”  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t realize. I was thinking,” she explained as she wondered if she shouldn’t just let it go instead of possibly embarrassing herself by talking about something that might just be in her mind.   
  
“I should have known,” he murmured with a ghost of a smile as he glanced at her briefly before he focused his attention back on his book.   
  
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked softly.   
  
His attention was instantly on her and he seemed surprised by her question. She was a little surprised, too, as she’d intended only to ask if he was okay. “No, of course not,” he said quickly. He hesitated a moment and simply stared at her. “Why would you ask that, Hermione?”  
  
“You’ve been acting weird,” she admitted with a sigh. “I thought that I might have done something and that’s why you were becoming distant.”  
  
“You haven’t done anything,” he told her firmly. “I wasn’t aware that I’d become distant. I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently.”  
  
“I’ve been told I’m a good listener,” she offered as she relaxed slightly. Bill wouldn’t lie to her, of that she had no doubt, so it wasn’t anything she’d unknowingly done that had caused his odd behavior.   
  
“What do you mean weird?” he asked as he focused his intense ‘I’m trying to solve a puzzle and get answers’ gaze on her.   
  
Hermione wasn’t exactly sure what to say. She finally shrugged. “I can’t explain it. You’ve just been different the last few weeks and I was worried.”  
  
“Different how?” He was the most infuriatingly stubborn man she’d ever met, she decided as his eyes narrowed and he studied her.  
  
“Damn it, Bill, I don’t know,” she snapped as she dragged her fingers through her hair. “Just forget I asked, okay? Do you have a preference for dinner? I thought we might get takeaway tonight because it was a long day at work and I don’t particularly feel like cooking.”  
  
He closed his book and met her gaze. “I don’t want to forget that you asked,” he said softly. “I want to know _why_ you noticed something I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing, Hermione. You see, I’ve suddenly got a theory. It’s one that I never considered possible so I don’t want to put much hope in it being true until I know for certain that it’s valid.”  
  
“A theory?” She was curious despite herself. “You’re being cryptic and odd, Bill,” she pointed out, frowning as she tried to decipher his comment and decide what sort of theory he could possibly have about her observation.   
  
“Stop trying to figure it out and just answer my question.” His tone was almost amused but there was something else to it that had her unable to look away from him.   
  
“You’ve been tense,” she said quietly, trying to keep a neutral tone so he’d not figure out exactly why she’d noticed the subtle changes. “You’ve just been moodier than usual, I guess. I really don’t know how to explain it well. The smiles and laughs are fewer and far between lately and you seem to be thinking a lot, in a distracted sort of way that doesn’t include sharing the thoughts with me. We still talk but I feel like you’re holding something back now and that bothers me.”  
  
“Hermione, why does it bother you?” He wouldn’t let her look away. There was something in his gaze, another subtle change in the way he was looking at her, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was just imagining the energy in the air around them that seemed to make her mouth dry and her pulse race.   
  
“Don’t,” she whispered as she realized he must know. She’d slipped off the tightrope without even realizing it and could now feel herself falling through the air. She tried to prepare herself for the crash landing, hoping she’d not lose his friendship along the way.  
  
“God, I’ve been so bloody stupid,” he muttered softly as he shook his head and ran his hand over his face. “Not as smart as I thought I was, obviously. I never saw, didn’t realize.” He was talking to himself and didn’t make a lot of sense.   
  
“I don’t understand,” she confessed, frustration, worry, and curiosity evident in each word as she watched him.   
  
“You don’t?” Bill looked at her for a moment before he stood up and walked over to her. “Let me see if I can try to explain it better,” he suggested as he sat down beside her and gave her that intense look again that had her unable to move and made her nearly forget to breathe.   
  
Before she could tell him that was a good idea, his fingers lightly brushed against her chin and he raised her head as he lowered his. She forgot what she had planned to say when his lips met hers in a tentative kiss. His lips were dry and chapped and fit perfectly over hers. When he pulled back, he blinked down at her as if he was surprised to find her really there with wet lips and flushed cheeks. She had the sudden realization that he’d not planned to do that at all, a fact that pleased her and gave her hope when she’d honestly never expected to have any.   
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I shouldn’t have---“ The whispered apology was caught by her lips as she took a chance and leaned up to kiss him. He groaned softly and then he was kissing her back, his fingers in her hair as he pulled her closer. She pressed against him, her tongue curled around his, and she gripped his soft hair as the kiss deepened.   
  
They parted and simply looked at each other, shaking, breathing raggedly, faces flushed, and raw emotion evident in their faces as they finally let down the walls they’d so carefully built over the years. He touched her cheek and she gently traced his scars with her fingertip as they just _looked_ and finally _saw_ , silently communicating everything they weren’t sure how to put into words. Their lips met again in a tender kiss that soon became passionate and desperate as they finally let go and admitted how they felt.   
  
She’d lost sight of the tightrope by now, didn’t think she’d ever see it again, but no longer minded slipping off of it. She was comforted with the knowledge that she wasn’t falling alone, not anymore. She and Bill were falling together and it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.   
  
The End


	6. Foolish

It felt like the first time.  
  
It didn’t matter that he was thirty-five instead of sixteen, had had several lovers since he was a teenager, and had even been married for a couple of years. He felt like he had the first time except he was possibly more anxious and less youthfully confident tonight than he’d been back when he was younger. He was nervous, excited, awkward, aroused, and somewhat clumsy, the latter of which he found annoying.   
  
Bill was never clumsy in any aspect of his life, and he certainly wasn’t in regards to sex, not even that first time when he’d not known anything compared to what he knew now. But he had fumbled several times during the course of the evening, nearly knocking over his glass of wine and tripping over a gap on the pavement when they’d left the restaurant and a few other things that left him feeling foolish. Hermione either didn’t notice due to her own emotions that seemed to match his or she didn’t mention it for some reason that would probably only make sense to her. Regardless, he noticed and felt rather foolish for acting in such a way.  
  
It had been six weeks since their first kiss. Six weeks in which they hadn’t said a word about the emotions that were evident every time they looked at each other or touched even casually. He wasn’t ready to voice the words that were said every time his gaze moved over her face. He felt them, showed them, and he knew she knew how he felt the same way he recognized them in her smile and the gentle way she brushed her fingers over his face.   
  
If he were completely honest, a part of him was scared to actually say them. He’d only said them once before, to Fleur, and he’d lost her. What if he told Hermione how he felt and lost her? It was stupid, of course, to believe not saying them somehow kept her anymore safe than she was on a normal day but he’d spent his adult life working with curses and breaking many dangerous ones in Egypt. What if somehow he’d brought one upon himself during that time and that’s why everything had been taken from him when life was happy and so promising even amidst a horrible war?   
  
Bill had never been foolish about such things before he’d lost it all. He was frustrated with himself for even thinking such a ridiculous idea much less actually considering it as plausible. He was scared; not of curses and not of her not reciprocating his feelings but of so many other things. There were times that he didn’t benefit from having a logical and analytical mind. They were good traits for a cursebreaker, certainly, but awful for a man who had lost so much and was hesitant to open himself completely to love again.   
  
Hermione hadn’t said the words either, though, so he wasn’t the only one hesitant at voicing something so obvious. He didn’t know her reasons but believed they might be similar to his own. Saying the words didn’t really matter. Their relationship had developed into something more that night. A kiss, a simple chaste kiss pressed against her lips, had changed it all.  
  
They were still friends, still had their routines, but now there was also intimacy. It felt natural to reach over and take her hand, an action that had occurred many times in the months prior to the subtle development of their relationship, yet it was different now. There was an awareness between them, secret smiles that only they shared, a variety of emotions present just from feeling her finger slide across his palm.   
  
His favorite new pastime was kissing Hermione. Bill could happily spend hours holding her against him as they kissed. Lazy kisses, gentle kisses, explorative kisses, kisses that led to his hands drifting over the soft curves of her body, kisses that became more intense and desperate as their bodies rubbed together while they snogged like teenagers. They had taken things slowly in that regard. Six weeks of kissing, touching, and rubbing had led them to tonight. Hands had slipped beneath shorts and knickers only last week, watching each other as they explored new areas until the pleasure had been overwhelming.   
  
Tonight was the night when there would be no clothing in the way, when things wouldn’t stop with kissing and touching, and he was more nervous than he’d been his first time. God, he hoped it went better than _that_ time. He’d only lasted about five minutes and hadn’t known what to do beyond what went where. It hadn’t been very enjoyable for his partner and he’d been so stunned at the knowledge he’d actually had sex with someone other than himself that he’d not even realized she’d not gotten much pleasure at all from the act. What if he bungled up things with Hermione the same way?  
  
It was another foolish worry. He was thirty-five years-old now and knew far more about it all so there wasn’t any need to be so bloody nervous. He didn’t think it arrogant to acknowledge that he was a good lover. He had spent years mastering the subject, after all, and knew how to find out what drove a woman wild. Every woman was different, of course, and each had their own sweet spots. He couldn’t wait to spend languid hours discovering each and every one of Hermione’s and exploring various things to find out what she liked and what positions made her scream.   
  
Six weeks of kissing, touching, and increasing intimacy had him ready for more. He’d wanted her far longer than that, fantasies while he wanked and dreams that left him hard and aching when he woke, and he couldn’t help fearing that he’d not even last five minutes once he was actually finally inside her. At least now he knew ways to make it good for her even if he bollocksed it up by having his body decide that he was twenty years younger. If that happened, maybe he’d benefit from that teenage stamina as well, he decided idly.   
  
They’d never discussed this aspect of their lives but he had a feeling that Ron had been her only lover, which was somewhat weird if he thought about it since it was his kid brother but it was one thing Bill had no interest in thinking about for too long. Hermione wasn’t the type for casual sex or one night stands and he did know she’d not had any other relationships until he’d entered her life. That added a bit more pressure for him to make it good for her.   
  
The entire night, a real date that consisted of dinner and the cinema followed by a romantic carriage ride through the park and lots of kisses beneath the stars, had gone reasonably well despite his nervous apprehension. He hadn’t realized until he’d gone to pick her up that tonight would be the night that they became truly intimate, thankfully, so he’d only had the evening to think and worry and imagine all the possible ways it could go wrong.   
  
Of course, it wasn’t as if something _had_ to happen tonight. They’d not actually declared that they were going to make love tonight and he had no complaints if the evening ended with a good snog on the sofa. He didn’t see that happening, however, as the awareness between them seemed even more intense and he’d barely been able to stop touching her all night. She touched him, too; shy but brave smiles as she kissed his jaw or touched his hair. It had been there every time their glances met over the candlelight at dinner, every time they’d snuggled during the film they’d seen that he couldn’t remember at all as he’d been too distracted by her to pay much attention, and every time they’d kissed and caressed during the carriage ride.   
  
Now they were at her flat and she was making tea. The tension, the good kind, was practically crackling in the air around them, and he hadn’t stopped pacing nervously since she’d gone into the kitchen. He was aroused already and had been most the night since he’d recognized that it was time to take the next step. When she came back into the sitting room with the tray of tea, Bill stopped pacing and looked at her. She was flushed and her lips were wet. She’d been biting her bottom lip, an action she performed every time she was nervous or lost in thought. He rather thought it was a bit of both tonight. She looked up at him and he felt the anxiety slowly slip away.  
  
This was right, he knew instantly. _They_ were right. Even if he came too soon or there was fumbling as they learned what they liked and didn’t like, it would be perfect in its own way.   
  
With that thought in mind, he crossed the room and took the teacup from her. He put it back on the tray and smiled as he ran his knuckles over her cheek. She returned his smile and reached up to pull the cord from his hair. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers as her fingers brushed through his hair. He would tease her about her hair fetish one day, he knew, and she’d blush and then tease him about his addiction to kissing her. There would be laughter as he pinned her to the bed and kissed her everywhere.   
  
There would also be times when he’d not be able to laugh, when he’d leave bruises on her hips and there would be bites on her breasts. He could see that clearly, too, and it was enough to make him consider pulling back and pushing her away before she was forced to deal with him when he was in _those_ moods. He’d barely been able to stop with just kissing a couple of weeks ago when the moon had been full and had ended up pressing her against the sofa and holding her wrists tightly as she’d rubbed against his leg until his lips had caught her soft cries of release. He’d never hurt her and never force her if she said no, but he worried about those times even more than he worried about ruining tonight by being worse than he had been the first time.   
  
Her touch was soothing as she brushed his hair with her fingers and lightly kissed him. He raised his head and met her gaze, not having the words to express his worries but knowing she could tell what he meant by the way she smiled and pressed closer to let him know it was okay. She accepted him, all of him, good and bad, and that made him love her all the more. When she offered him her hand, looking shy and sexy, nervous and brave, he took it and followed her to the bedroom.   
  
Afterwards, he held her against him as she slept. Their bodies were sticky and the sheets were wet. They’d fumbled together, hands in wrong places and bumped heads and sliding against instead of into and pulled hair and bites on his shoulders that had him growling as he’d managed to last more than five minutes but not much more and her so tight and wet and making the most arousing sounds as he’d moved and she’d moved and they’d moved. They’d touched and explored and managed a second time that had lasted far longer than the first as they learned each other’s bodies and languidly made love without the desperate urgency that had driven the first time, but it was still intense and passionate in a way he somehow knew would always be there between them.   
  
It hadn’t been hours of teasing and begging, hadn’t been overwhelming multiple orgasms for her, hadn’t been free of clumsiness, hadn’t been void of laughter and sheepish smiles, and hadn’t been flawless and ideal in the way of romance books and cinema. He looked down at her and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face as he smiled and pulled her closer. It hadn’t been any of those things but it had been perfect in its own way.   
  
The End


	7. Content

The sound of raucous singing spilled onto the street from the doors of the pub every time they were opened. Hermione smiled at the familiar sound as she entered the pub and walked to the bar. She placed her order quickly and sat down to wait, finding it somewhat odd to not be taking a drink to the table by the window as she had most Friday nights for the past few years. She’d probably be back next week as tonight was just a change in routine.  
  
A quick glance around confirmed that it was crowded so she knew she’d have to wait. The pub was even more crowded on Friday nights than ever before, which she assumed was a good thing. She smiled when she saw Seamus flirting with Theodore Nott, who had taken to drinking pineapple juice since he’d realized Seamus’ arse looked even better when one was sober. At a corner table, Hannah Abbott was sipping a glass of butterbeer, her eyes dry as Susan Bones chattered on and slowly pulled her back into life.  
  
Once she paid for her purchase, she got up and left the pub. The singing followed her as she stepped into the crisp autumn air. It was late October and there was already a vast array of coats and scarves already on display. Autumn was her favorite time of year, though she did love the rebirth that spring brought. Autumn, though, was a time of change.   
  
As she walked home from the pub, her mind took her back to a similar evening eight months ago. It was funny to look back on that night, the one that unknowingly would end up changing her life, and realize how something as casual as a cup of hot chocolate could lead to what she had now. A nostalgic smile crossed her face as she walked past her old building. She glanced up and saw the darkness of her old flat, knowing it hadn’t been rented out yet.   
  
At the corner, Hermione turned and saw her new building. The flat was in the corner and on the second floor. She could see the lights on and stopped for a moment when she noticed a familiar figure walk past the large window that had sold her on the flat. Well, she’d also liked the layout and the rooms, which were bigger than most they’d viewed. He’d liked the kitchen, which was a perfect working space for him as he learned more recipes to make. She had to admit that it was rather adorable to see him in his ‘manly’ apron as he painstakingly measured ingredients and experimented with various entrées for dinner. Of course, his fondness for making baked goods was going to force her to start exercising.   
  
Bill was unpacking a box of books, the glow of the light behind him making his hair a vivid flame in the night sky, and she decided that she’d hang the drapes before bed. She loved the views from all the windows in the flat but she didn’t particularly care for the idea that anyone could stand here and see so clearly into their house. She watched him as he finished unpacking it and tossed the empty box behind him before he pulled his hair back as he disappeared from her sight.   
  
Hermione walked to their building and took the stairs up to the second floor. The building was older than most but well cared for, possessing a history that had appealed to both her and Bill. It didn’t have a lift and was only three floors, ten flats total with a variety of neighbors that had already come out to welcome them as they’d moved in during the last few days. The elderly witch that lived in the back corner of the third floor had seemed a bit taken aback at the lack of wedding rings on their hands but had recovered quickly and had even made them tea last night.   
  
When she entered their flat, she could smell spice and chicken. Bill was in the kitchen, his hair pulled back, his shirt off, and the frilly apron that had been a joke gift from Charlie upon hearing they were planning to move in together tied around his waist. She took a second to observe him as he worked with his back to her, noticing the pull of his muscles and the freckles on his lower back that were always tempting her to touch.   
  
She put down the bottle of wine she’d just bought and stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey you,” he said softly as he looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. She leaned up and brushed a kiss against his lips before she stepped away. “I’m about to put dinner in the oven. I started working on the bookcase and couldn’t stand to leave the shelf half full so I just got this finished.”  
  
“It smells good,” she told him as she took off her coat and hung it up before she kicked off her shoes. She walked around the boxes that were still stacked everywhere and began to break down the boxes that were already empty. She couldn’t stand having the empty boxes just lying there. Once they were done, she went to the window and looked out, watching the quiet street below them.   
  
Bill put the chicken in the oven and then poured them each a glass of wine. He moved behind her and she took her glass before she leaned back against him. They stood there silently sipping their wine in their new flat. It was still a bit of a surprise to think of it as _their_ flat. She knew a few of their friends were worried that things had moved too fast. It had only been a few months since their relationship had developed from friendship into something more, after all, and moving in together was a big step.   
  
Those that spent time with them, however, knew it wasn’t too fast at all. It was a natural progression and it felt right. Neither of them was likely to have agreed if there had been any doubts. Well, there had been doubts but just typical relationship doubts and nothing serious. After they’d talked about it and decided they wanted to live together, the few doubts had faded and they were both very content as they made this flat their new home. The only true adventure in this world, she realized as she spent more time with Bill and her feelings developed over time, was falling in love and _living_ instead of simply existing.   
  
“I love you,” she said softly as she sighed in contentment, smiling as he tightened his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.  
  
“Love you, too,” he whispered before he brushed a kiss against her skin.   
  
They rarely said the words, to be honest, and she could still remember the first time he’d said them so clearly. It had been a couple of weeks after they had become intimate. She’d been cleaning the toilet, of all things, and had looked a mess with gloves up to her elbows and her hair falling from a sloppy ponytail. He’d been putting away laundry, folding towels and flannels, and he’d casually said it as he put up a blue towel. It had taken her a moment to realize what he’d said but she’d recovered quickly and casually said it back as she scrubbed the toilet with a smile on her face.  
  
Since then, they said it occasionally but it wasn’t something they had to hear to know. The words simply verbalized what their actions, their caresses, and their gazes said silently. It was nice to say, though, and she always liked to hear it because she knew it had taken him years before he was ready to say those words again and she realized how much it meant for him to say them.   
  
Hermione put her glass of wine on the window sill and took his glass from him. She waved her wand at the wireless and soft music began to play as she looked at him and smiled. “I’d ask you to dance but there are boxes everywhere.”  
  
Bill smiled as he brushed her hair away from her face. “I’d rather stand here and hold you than dance,” he admitted before he kissed the tip of her nose, “though I suppose we should finish unpacking.”  
  
“Not tonight,” she decided. “I want to hang the drapes before bed but I don’t want to do anything else productive until tomorrow.”  
  
“Really?” He arched a brow and a mischievous smile that was becoming more common as time went by crossed his lips as his hand drifted up and down her back. “It’s rather early still, Miss Granger. However did you expect to spend the remainder of the evening if we’re to be unproductive?”  
  
“I’m certain that two intelligent and creative people such as ourselves should be able to think of something, Mister Weasley,” she told him before she leaned up and kissed him thoroughly.   
  
He laughed softly when the kiss ended. Before she knew what he planned, he picked her up and walked to the sofa. He found a spot that wasn’t covered with moving boxes and sat down, keeping her on his lap. “I think there’s time to indulge in my favorite pastime before dinner is ready,” he told her before he kissed her.  
  
She kissed him back as her fingers moved into his hair. She pulled it free from the cord binding it and shifted on his lap, hoping it took the chicken awhile to cook. This might not be a crowded pub with drunken singing all around them, but she could get used to spending her Friday nights like this. She wasn’t someone who usually believed in things that couldn’t be logically proved, but she knew as she and Bill kissed on the sofa in their new flat, love and contentment having long since replaced the loneliness and restlessness that had been her life prior to their unexpected reunion in February, that some things were just meant to be.   
  
The End


End file.
